Now Stand Thirty Ghosts
by martiangirlsworld
Summary: A sequel to Let's Play a Game. Jane has been rescued, but she isn't herself. How will Sherlock handle a distant and damaged Watson? Johnlock! Angst! Awkwardness! WARNING: This is not separate from traditional Sherlock feels. It's meant to start between Baskerville and... the episode which shall not be named.
1. Waking Up

_"Behind every man now alive stand thirty ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living."_

(opening line from _2001: A Space Odyssey _by Arthur C. Clarke)

* * *

March 4th

Footsteps. The chime of an elevator. A murmur of conversation. Noises began to leak into Jane's slowly dawning consciousness. One voice was louder than the others – she recognized it happily. _Stop badgering people, Sherlock; I'm coming back now._ She wasn't sure where she'd gone, just that she'd been away. Where was she? Everything felt stiff and heavy… Jane gradually persuaded her eyes to open and look around. Hospital? Oh, definitely a hospital, and she was covered in bandages – well, shit. That's a cast. Is my ankle broken? Apparently. Cautiously, memories crept back in, and she stiffened in horror as Moriarty's face loomed before her mind's eye. Machines beeped annoyingly as her body went into a slight panic, her heart rate spiking and her mind rushing too fast to stop herself, finally recollecting why she was hospitalized.

_He'd been fussing at the nurses again when the monitors burst into life, and he was back in Jane's room before the nurses had realized it was her going off._

_ "Jane?" he called, but he knew she wasn't hearing it. He laid his hand on her shoulder, but he felt her flinch, so he reluctantly pulled away. The nurses hurried in and set to work seeing if they could coax her down without having to sedate her._

Someone said her name, somewhere. Jane mentally flailed against the tidal wave of terrible images and feelings and taunting memories, fighting to recover the barricade she'd built several days earlier. _He's gone. Sherlock's here. I'm safe. I'm alive. I need to_ function, _dammit. _Her eyes opened wide, unseeing at first. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she dragged her mind up, away from the dark corners, and weakly waved the nurses away.

_He watched as every shade of terror passed over Jane's face, then anger and frustration, and finally… nothing. She somehow managed to smooth her features into a blank mask._

_ "Well, back off, then, if she's waving you away, you idiots. Doctors hate being patients."_

_ It seemed to take hours for the nurses to leave them alone, but his impatience likely tripled the length of time. When they left, however, he suddenly realized that he had no idea how to talk to her. Would she want to avoid serious conversation? Would being treated as fragile annoy her? Would she even want to talk to him at all? Doubt spun through his mind, but it seemed his natural spontaneity had decided to surface._

_ "Jane? Are you… alright?" The question came out before he could stop himself._

Jane battled her desire to scream impulsively. NO. NO I AM NOT ALRIGHT.

"… Yeah." Smile-and-nod it was, then. She watched Sherlock realizing what a ridiculous question it was, watched him trying to read her, watched him retreat in confusion as he saw nothing. She wanted to feel the need to reach out, to explain, but she didn't feel anything.

"God bless painkillers. I've just got a bit of a headache. You don't look to good, though. Haven't been eating, have you?" It wasn't what he meant, and she knew it. Avoiding certain discussions – Shouldn't it be Sherlock doing that?

"I – some. Mrs. Hudson, you know." Of course.

"How did you survive before you had me, Sherlock Holmes? Anyway, I'm going to get some rest. You should as well. Sit, breathe, relax." Jane turned her head away and closed her eyes, shutting him and the rest of the world out. He did as he was told.


	2. Take Me Home

_"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment." - Buddha_

* * *

March 11th

Why are doctors such terrible patients?

"I'm perfectly fit to go home!"

"Miss Watson - look -"

"Miss Watson?! Are you kidding me? Of all the titles -"

"Jane. Please. Let's just walk out shall we?" Sherlock turned to glare at the offending doctor. "He won't stop us tomorrow morning, will he?" The unfortunate Dr. Sawyer cowered under the detective's glare, being nearly a foot shorter.

"Oh. Um. Of course not. Dr. Watson will be discharged tomorrow morning with - with as little fuss as possible.

_Sherlock couldn't help but panic slightly behind his cool exterior. If Jane came home to 221B before her cast came off, he might have to help her up and down the stairs. Would she even allow that? What about safety? Lying in a hospital bed grumpily watching crap tele while Sherlock sat nearby working on cold case files was far safer than sitting at home with Mrs. Hudson. Should he stay home? Could he stay home without causing chaos? Sherlock decided to remain in the flat with Jane as long as he could._

_"Well, this should be interesting, at least," he thought_.

* * *

(March 20th)

"Sherlock, get off the couch. You've been staring at the ceiling for three hours. Even listening to you yelling at the tele is better than that."

"What? Why?"

"It's weird. You've barely blinked. Don't meditate yourself into a coma, boy-wonder; I need your long-legged brain-transport to run errands for another couple months."

"Ah... right." Jane went back to her incessant typing as Sherlock swung his legs over, stood up, and stepped over the table.

"Is that necessary?" Jane snapped, not even glancing up.

"What, stepping on the table?"

"Yes."

"I always do that."

"Yes. You step on the table I may want to set my plate down on sometime. Remind me never to eat food that falls on it."

_Since she didn't seem to be paying much attention to him anymore, he quickly backed through the kitchen into his room. He'd spent most of the past week in his room, actually. Sherlock never thought he would find himself avoiding his flatmate, except maybe when she was infatuated with the latest boyfriend. She had been either eerily indifferent or disconcertingly irritable since she came home._

_"I wish I could just confront her. She's accused me of avoiding confrontation before, but I know very well that I'm skilled at doing it to others. I don't want her to get upset. There's no way to tell what the source of her anger is at this point, and I would rather not discover it to be me and provoke her into leaving... Leaving the flat." I was not about say "leaving me"! his brain protested quietly. "I want her safe. This won't do. I have to keep an eye on her, and she's pushing me away."_

"DAMMIT JIM." The outburst was accompanied by an impressive crash. Eyes wide, Jane hurried over to Sherlock's door and pounded on it.

"Sherlock, what've you done?" The door was yanked open to reveal a slightly out-of-breath Holmes and a half-destroyed bookshelf on the floor. "Good God, man."

"Er - sorry. Just - a temper tantrum I suppose."

"A temper tantrum?!" Jane shouted. "Have you LOST YOUR MIND?"

Her outrage only served to aggravate him further, and he took a long, sweeping step closer, bellowing right back.

"APPARENTLY I HAVE. Thank you, thank YOU, Jane Watson!"

"What? What do I have to do with it, you lunatic?!"

"EVERYTHING. It's always EVERYTHING with you now! DISTRACTIONS!"

"What?!" Without thinking, her flatmate got in Jane's face.

"You! You are a distraction! IRENE wasn't as bad a distraction! Do you have ANY IDEA what happened to me while you were with Moriarty, Jane?! I HAD A NIGHTMARE ABOUT FINDING YOU DEAD! A nightmare! And then I see what he's telling you! And it doesn't matter if you stop trusting me, because even if I got you out, IT WAS MY FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE."

Jane gaped at him in shock as he cut off the rest of his rant, his normally pink and bowed mouth pressed thin and as pale as his skin.

"If - but - I - You did - What -" She choked back her consternation, backed away, and hobbled up to her room. "What the hell just happened?" She pushed it out of her mind as best she could and picked up the novel she'd been half-way into when Moriarty grabbed her.

_Sherlock could not believe what he'd just done. He was relieved when her door didn't slam shut, which would mean that she wasn't angry, just alarmed and probably confused. He knew he never should have allowed himself to get so out of control. Getting in Jane's space like that was likely a frightening experience for her, especially after what happened. He wasn't exactly sure how much of his rant had come out of his mouth, either, which was concerning. He resorted to methods similar to Jane's: pulled a stool up to the table in the kitchen and immersed himself in an experiment._


	3. April Fools

**The angst was distressing me on Jane and Sherlock's behalf. This is a cute little ray of sunshine in their rather gray routine. For the past few weeks, even before Sherlock's outburst, they've gone through the motions, walking on eggshells. Even Jane gets tired of her grim outlook sometimes. She hasn't really laughed or smiled again yet since coming home, and she spies a perfect opportunity.**

* * *

_"Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive." - Elbert Hubbard_

* * *

After the incident in his room, Sherlock decided to take up cases again before they both went crazy. He still wanted to protect Jane, feeling himself at fault in the first place, so he took only the especially interesting cases - 8's mostly. He was sort of glad for the lack of 9's and the infamous 10, because those would probably have something to do with James Moriarty. The only downside to this arrangement of I-go-away and you-sulk-in-peace was that he came home bursting with excitement about the case. He stopped himself on the landing the first time, and backtracked to consult Mrs. Hudson. _Can I tell her about cases? May as well give it a go, dear_. It turned out that she was still very interested, if less complimentary, so he made a habit of rehashing each case for her once he'd solved it. Once in a while, Sherlock saw her glaring ferociously at her cast out of the corner of his eye. (She was extremely Bored.)

It had been days since his last case, but he had a couple experiments going on the kitchen table, so neither of them were contemplating drastic actions - yet. That morning, he woke up from his four hours of sleep and trudged into the kitchen, only to find that something was off that his sleepy mind couldn't place. After about twenty minutes of perplexed staring at his thins, Sherlock heard Jane walk in - and start snickering. His head shot up in shock.

"Did you do something to my experiments?"

"To your experiments? No... The look on your face is priceless! I'm glad_ I_ was the one who was prowling around in the wee hours of the morning."

"What? I don't understand. _Why_ did you...?" He trailed off as she pulled out her phone and showed him the calendar. He couldn't help looking back and forth between it and her smirk.

"April first... You... _Oh_..." Jane actually started laughing then, continuing as the detective peered at the table and realized that she had just moved all the tools and vials to the wrong place. He felt ridiculous, having been so confused, but he was glad it made her laugh. He smiled.

"Well played, Jane. You should be glad Mrs. Hudson would never let me get revenge."

Jane grinned cheekily at him, and looked more like herself than she had in a month.

"Let's go down and join her for breakfast, then. She'll appreciate a chuckle at your expense."

"Wouldn't most everyone?"

"True. You're lucky I didn't put dye in your shampoo or something."

"You would never!"

"I might!"

"Jane? Sherlock? Hallo! What's got you two so cheery?"

They shared the little story with Mrs. Hudson over coffee and toast, and that morning, at least, was lovely. Thank goodness for ridiculous holidays.


	4. Catch Me, Keep Me

_"Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish." - Barbara Smith_

* * *

April 18th

Jane had just gotten the cast off her foot a couple days ago, but Sherlock was already on thin ice.

"Your ankle is still weak, Jane, as you very well know, _Doctor_."

"Oh, not to mention I'm still not very good company?" she replied scathingly.

"Well, that, too."

"Sherlock!"

"_You_ said it."

"AGH."

She was absolutely outraged that he still wouldn't let her do anything outside the house. He'd resorted to putting Mrs Hudson on guard whenever he left for a case. In fact, he took fewer cases than he had while she had the cast on. _This is ludicrous_, he thought. This morning, he'd actually found himself refusing a perfectly decent 7 when Lestrade called him! Sherlock spent the morning composing on his violin instead, pondering the predicament he was in with Jane. She'd holed herself up in her room since yesterday evening, but it seemed a good night's sleep had improved her outlook; he could hear her coming down the stairs as he paused in his playing. Sherlock's attention was drawn back from the violin again when a whisper of intuition told him something was off.

"Jane?"

"Just - just got slowed down a bit," she called from the stairs. "My ankle's decided to fight me, I think." Only a moment later, he heard an exclamation of "oh - shit -"

The violin and bow clattered to the carpet as Sherlock bolted towards the stairs. He got there just in time to stop Jane's fall. She slammed into his chest, and they were both lucky his feet were braced. For a couple seconds, she was just glad her face hit him instead of the wood, and he stood still, holding her where she fell. Unfortunately, Jane's instincts kicked in as her adrenaline faded, and her whole body tensed, pulling away from her flatmate sharply, eyes wide.

"Jane -"

"Don't." She slunk off to hide in the kitchen, and Sherlock returned to pick up his violin.

_Please stop playing sad music. I trust you. It's not you. It's not your fault._ But she couldn't say it.

* * *

April 22nd

Falling on Sherlock, crushed against his chest for seconds that seemed much longer, Jane felt something crack. The wall, the dam, which she had built up around her emotions, couldn't quite withstand that moment of fear. Being afraid of _Sherlock_. Never! _Never_. **Wrong.** Jane slowly crumbled under the frustration, the way she'd pushed away from him haunting her, every time he tolerated her touchiness and ill-temper only serving to further fracture her mental stronghold. That night, a few days later, she broke.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, just staring at the ceiling, when he noticed that he could no longer hear Jane walking around or typing. She was always doing one or the other recently.

"Jane?" No response. He started carefully up the stairs, making sure he creaked a lot so she could hear him coming. "Alright, Jane?" Still nothing. He walked up to her door and gently pushed it open. At first he didn't see her - she was huddled in a quietly sobbing ball in the corner. "Oh..." _What do I do?_ After a moment of internal debate, Sherlock gingerly knelt in front of her and held out his hands, palms up. "Jane? Are you hearing me?" He almost didn't expect her to, but she looked up. Her tear-streaked face broke his last mental defenses against "sentiment," and he moved around her to settle against the wall, drawing her gently into his lap. He wasn't so much holding her as enveloping her.

_Hold me together; I'm falling apart._ Jane's breakdown had her a mess, but she could feel the healing process starting deep down. Whatever pieces of her had shattered under Moriarty fluttered warily, happily, towards the warmth provided by her flatmate - her friend - something indescribable...


	5. Home Sweet Heart

_"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." - Robert Frost_

* * *

April 25th

Once Jane broke down and slowly came back together, things pretty much went back to normal. It only took Sherlock three days and a good case to revert back to his usual attitude, but Jane didn't mind. He was still sort of protective (not_ possessive_ - that would be _weird_) and acting as though nothing had happened was comforting. The first time Jane came to a crime scene again, even Anderson seemed glad to see her. This was probably because Sherlock was a completely insufferable arse without her. Jane was also glad for the chance to apologize to Lestrade, whom she hadn't talked to since he took her statement about Moriarty.

"Jane! Good to see you, soldier."

"You, too. Listen... I wanted to apologize for not talking to you these past several weeks..."

"No, look, it's fine. I get it. I'm just glad you're -"

"Me again?" Jane finished.

"Eh, yeah."

"Well, Sherlock's starting to look irritated. Let's not antagonize him. Talk to you later."

Lestrade couldn't help noticing something that even Jane seemed to glaze over: the change in Sherlock's behaviour. At first glance, the detective was back to normal, but the DI began to see small movements, or a flicker of an expression, that told him Sherlock hadn't gotten over his reaction to Jane's capture. Lestrade pulled him aside.

"Hey, mate, thanks for the tips, but... Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm fine. What are you talking about?"

"It's just - Jane didn't see how you were when she was gone. I did, and, well... You're not back yet, Sherlock. You're holding together, but something's still biting you."

"Your concern is touching. Kindly keep it to yourself." Sherlock stalked over to Jane and their taxi, brushing off Lestrade and the discussion. The DI just sighed.

"Watch yourself, kid," he muttered at the now-distant taxi.

* * *

April 30th

"Jane!"

"What!"

"Come down!"

"Fine!" She clattered noisily down the stairs to the living room. "Now, what?" Sherlock waved a brochure in the air, smiling. _Ah, this is a new case, isn't it?_ "Sherlock, you know I'm going back to work in two days, right?"

"Irrelevant! Look where this case is! Isle of Man! I haven't been there!"

"Isle of Man? I have. I should go with you." She was surprised when his smile dropped.

"No."

"What? Why? It makes sense. I can always start work next week."

"No."

"Sherlock -"

"No!" Jane stared at him, and he started look uncomfortable.

"Why? You have to tell me why." He turned away.

"No. Let it alone, Jane!"

"... No, yourself, git. Tell me." At that, he tried to evade her, but ended up cornered in his room unless he wanted to climb out the fire escape. "Now talk."

"JANE. _Really_." He was started to pace and get upset, and the situation was suddenly disturbingly similar to when he blew up at her. Jane, realizing she couldn't handle a repeat, debated internally whether or not she would have to back off. Fortunately, Sherlock noticed what she was thinking and immediately felt guilty. "Alright, alright... sit."

"Wh - okay..." Jane sat on the end of his bed, for lack of chairs, and he folded himself up on the other end.

"Jane... I don't want you in danger, but I definitely don't want you in danger where I don't know the streets and citizens. When Moriarty had you... I wasn't myself. If I could've remained detached like I ordinarily work, I could've found you faster, and... And it doesn't matter. You would never've been taken in the first place if I didn't involve you in my cases..." he trailed off sadly.

"No."

"What?"

"No. Don't do that."

"Do - what?"

"Blame yourself. I guess I understand your outburst last month now. You idiot." Jane crawled over the bed to kneel in front of him. "You didn't drag me into your chaos. I marched in myself, and I'd do it again. I'll stay here with Mrs. Hudson and you go have your adventure _without getting yourself killed_ and maybe things will settle down." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheekbone. "Go on. _Impress a girl_." She waltzed away down to talk to Mrs. Hudson as he processed what she had just done._ That was Adler's line._ Oh_. Oh_.

* * *

**Annnd scene! Ha. I'm so sorry this took so long, guys! I got distracted by my other story, with comatose Sherlock. Looks like Sherlock shouldn't worry so much about hiding his feelings. :D We're nearing the end of this debacle. Thanks for sticking it out.**


	6. Safe

**[**_**I was listening to "Safe" by Britt Nicole…**_**]**

May 1st

No one but Sherlock ever saw Jane's emotional turmoil, and they chose to ignore her sass-fueled moment of affection, and Mrs. Hudson finally stopped tiptoeing around. Jane watched everything settle in back to normal: helping Sherlock with cases, working beside Sarah at the clinic, and commiserating with Mrs. Hudson about their genius. The only remnant of her time with Moriarty left for him to notice was her reluctance with physical contact. Other than her patients, the good doctor barely even shook hands anymore. Jane was grateful that the detective had never been particularly prone to it anyway, other than grabbing her hand when she ran too slowly. She had no idea how much the realization of her new attitude frustrated him. After all, Sherlock had only just developed the opposite view! She was the one person he longed to be closer to and enjoyed contact with. A massive room just for Jane H. Watson had developed in his mind-palace, and he spent many adventure-less nights living in it, recalling every moment he took her hand, or dragged her down a side street, or pulled her close in a hiding spot. _How do I reach you now?_

"Sherlock, I hate you," Jane moaned, exhausted after a case which had required a lot of running after spritely criminals. "It didn't even take more than one afternoon! Why did you take this?"

"Bored. Obviously. And you don't hate me – you're just jealous that I have longer legs," he replied haughtily. He'd never admit to being just as physically drained as his smaller flatmate.

"Ugh, fine, whatever. I'm going upstairs and collapsing on my bed and not moving for hours."

"Have fun with that." Sherlock folded himself up into his chair to retreat to his mind-palace, but then… a thought whispered through his head. _Why are you obsessing over a woman who actually lives with you? She's right here, not in your head. This can't go on._ Before he realized what he was doing, Sherlock had stood up from the chair and started up the steps to Jane's room. As he entered, he saw that she was lying on her stomach, face buried in the pillow. A subtle movement of her shoulders told him she'd heard him come in and decided to wait to see what he was doing before saying anything. Sherlock braced himself as he gingerly sat down on the bed and leaned over her.

Jane went still as long fingers brushed the skin at the back of her neck, and she suddenly felt bare in the tank-top she'd thrown on. Still, remembering the way she'd flinched on the stairs weeks before, Jane kept quiet, waiting and allowing Sherlock to continue. His hand rested comfortingly on her back, between her shoulder blades, but her nerves hummed. _Oh god_. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her skin, and Jane couldn't decipher whether her response was positive or negative. _What is he doing? Have I actually gone crazy? He can't… 'feel' this… Can he?_ Sherlock leaned his face close to her head and pressed his lips beneath her ear. Her eyes snapped open, though she hadn't moved otherwise.

"Tell me if this is bad, Jane… What do you feel? If… If I need to – you know, _not_ touch you…"

"Just – just continue. Please." He could hear her determination to fight her nervousness. Sherlock gave in a little to his strange (to him) desire to touch, kissing down her neck and across her bare shoulder blades, savoring the tiny shivered which traveled down her spine.

"I've known for ages… I need you… I want you… in so many ways, Jane," he murmured against her back. "Can you return any of it, even though I'm an insufferable git?" He heard a quiet "God, yes" and smiled. Jane shifted onto her side, facing away from him, and he wrapped his long arms around her waist, holding her close. She gasped when he suddenly attacked her earlobe with his mouth, and her hips jerked slightly back against his. Instinctively, his hand wrapped around her hip, keeping her against him, but he noticed that her muscles had tensed, struggling to reconcile unrelated desire and apprehension.

"Shhh. Let's just lay here and recover from my stupid case, love."

"Alright… I – do you mean that?"

"What?"

"'Love'."

"… I do."

"Good. I love you, too."

They lay there resting until Sherlock's busy mind allowed him to dose off, until the heat from his body coaxed her muscles to relax into his embrace. She hadn't slept so peacefully in months.


	7. Days Away

**I'm so sorry these are so far apart. To anyone following from the original story... My god, you're fantastic. Brilliant! Amazing! I love you? My college has terrible wifi, and I can only get it at odd times, like 1 in the afternoon and 2 in the morning.**

* * *

_"Yet, taught by time, my heart has learned to glow for other's good, and melt at other's woe." ~ Homer_

* * *

For the past couple weeks, Sherlock had been sleeping in Jane's bed, basking in the trust she placed in him, and relishing their closeness. The arrangement helped both of them, really, because Sherlock didn't have nightmares about losing his blogger when he could wake up to holding her. Every so often, a nightmare plagued Jane, but he was always there to wake and comfort her… until he wasn't.

Considering the fact that they had both been back on cases for months and hadn't had a nightmare for days, they mutually decided that there was no reason Sherlock shouldn't take a Welsh case. Jane grinned when he demanded that they Skype every night before she went to bed.

"I thought you weren't worried."

"I am not. Your health has made progress in all respects and you are quite capable of taking care of yourself."

"Then why the calls?"

"They – they're for me."

"Sorry, what?"

"I need to _see_ you safe. Surely you remember your well-being has caused me nightmares."

"… That's – sweet, Sherlock."

"Please don't." Jane just laughed, but it warmed his heart to hear how happy she sounded.

* * *

"Hello, Jane. You called earlier than I expected," Sherlock greeted her. She flushed.

"I missed you."

"Ah. The feeling is mutual, of course. This is the least contact we've had since – since I brought you home, especially lately. I meant to say, Jane… If you have a nightmare, do call. I will."

"Alright," she replied, smiling. "How's the case? Is it dangerous? Are you getting along with the locals? I mean, well enough they won't kill you?"

"Ha. The case is fairly interesting, but it does not seem personally dangerous. Jane, it's the Welsh; of course they don't want to kill me. They don't like being questioned and I don't need to ask."

* * *

"Hello, Sherlock."

"Good evening, Jane. You look bursting with news… Something work-related?"

"Sherlock, there isn't anything in my life other than you and work."

"Good point. Should it be concerning?"

"Nah. Anyway, yes, I have news: I have a case!"

"Er – what?"

"You heard! I'm working on a small case for Lestrade." Jane was beaming, but he paled.

* * *

"Hello, Jane – Are you alright?"

"Heh. Yes, I'm fine. I know it looks a bit ugly, but it's not as bad as it looks. My case proved rather challenging, though I'm sure you would have gotten it solved with less fuss and time."

"We'll see. Tell me all about it," he demanded. As she started, he sat with steepled fingers, eyes closed, bow lips smiling at her warm voice and detailed story.

* * *

"Sherlock."

"Jane? What's wrong?"

"Heh. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or exasperated that you were awake to take my call."

"Jane."

"I miss you."

"Nightmare."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"I love you."

"I – what?" He stared at her desperate expression through the screen. "I love you, too." She relaxed and buried her face in her hands.

"I – I know; I'm sorry."

"Don't say sorry, Jane. Just tell me about it." His chest tightened with his desire to hold her.

_Sherlock was rushing down the streets in his dramatic coat, sweeping towards a hive of criminal activity with Jane running behind him. One more case for Lestrade, he'd promised, and then they could go on vacation – then they could go to Vienna for a week. The pair burst into the grim building, Jane having fired off a text to Lestrade about the location. Shots were fired rapidly from everywhere at once, it seemed, and they ducked behind some canvas-covered boxes. Just as sirens came within hearing distance, they peeked out from their hiding place – and one more shot rang out. Sherlock spun to the ground, blood seeping into his fancy shirt, faced pale. Jane could do nothing, except kneel by his head and cry and listen. She laid her head on his chest to hear the fading heartbeat and a whispered "I love you. Please keep going, love." She replied "If you say so... I love you, too" just before the light faded from his eyes. All she could do was scream, and it echoed into the waking world._

"I'll be home tomorrow evening, Jane."

"Good… Stay safe."

"I'll hurry back."

"Do."

"Leave the feed on while you go back to sleep."

"Don't not go to bed."

"As soon as you seem peacefully unconscious."

"Alright. Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, Jane."


	8. Close and Yet So Far

**(brace yourself)**

* * *

_"In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." - Winston Churchill_

* * *

Jane woke up to his lips on her jaw.

"Ah, um… Hi?" He didn't respond except to press small kisses to her neck. "Sher?" Still nothing. It began to dawn on her that - one - he might be feeling a bit suppressed, considering they hadn't done anything more than brief snogging - and two - damn, did that feel good. She shifted slightly, drawing closer to the man leaning over her. He grinned into her collarbone, and Jane was suddenly very glad she'd worn a tank top instead of a shirt.

"Good morning."

"Hm. Apparently."

"Ha. Yes, well, I couldn't resist today."

"Sorry…"

"For what? Backing away from these situations? There's no need to apologize for being traumatized, Watson."

"Oi! When did "Watson" become patronizing?" He smirked and leaned in, lips brushing hers.

"Don't be like that." He pressed his mouth to hers, shutting her up and returning to his original goal, pressing Jane into the mattress gently as she buried one hand in his curls. Despite her apparent willingness, he was still surprised by the desire behind it when she moaned into the kiss. Her hands slid to his chest and pushed gently, confusing him. He sat back, and she followed, eyes dark.

"Since you're clearly wondering what the hell I'm doing - I'm removing your shirt," she said thickly. "It is in the way." OH, was as far as his brain got before her lips pressed against his chest and his mind shut down.

* * *

By the time Mrs. Hudson came up to tell them that Lestrade was downstairs terribly worried and did Sherlock shoot the bell again and why have neither of them been answering the phone, Jane and Sherlock were sitting on the couch in their housecoats and pants, sipping tea and reading. Mrs. Hudson gawked slightly at the way Jane was cuddled against Sherlock's side as Lestrade followed her up the stairs.

"Er - that explain a lot," he muttered in shock. "Couldn't have texted me you were busy?"

"We were busy," Sherlock commented far too smugly. "And the phones were downstairs." Jane rolled her eyes good-naturedly as Lestrade flushed. "Was it urgent?"

"I guess not… just that we could use your help? Jane?" Both men turned to the doctor.

"Of course," she said cheerfully. "But it would be good if you two left before we went to get dressed."

"Oh, right! Sorry! See you at the Yard then." Lestrade left hurriedly. Mrs. Hudson smiled at them.

"It's about time, you know."

"Oh, we know. We've known for a while, really," Sherlock replied quietly. She left.

* * *

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came."

"No, I'm coming in."

"Just. Do as I ask. Please."

"Where?"

"Stop there."

"Sherlock."

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

"Oh god."

"I— I— I can't come down so we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true."

"What?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty."

"Why are you saying this?"

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock -"

"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met—the first time we met—you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could."

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Its just a magic trick."

"No. Alright, stop it now."

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"Alright."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, Jane."

"No. Don't -"


	9. Oh, It Feels like Forever

**It seems I owe you a thousand apologies, dear readers. ;) Thanks for sticking it out so far.**

* * *

_"In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality." ~ William S. Burroughs_

* * *

Jane had years to recover from the the supposed death of Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective and humble egomaniac. The first year she spent in mourning, visiting his grave every so often and hating Mycroft more than she'd ever hated anyone. Even Moriarty was higher in her estimation; at least he'd been relatively honest, for a criminal mastermind, and killed himself off in the end. Mycroft - just - No. It should have been him falling at her feet.

The second year, her natural resilience pushed her broken heart aside and dragged her back into the world. She allowed herself to recover the art of smiling, she met a Dr. Mark Morstan who was everything she used to dream of finding. They married.

The third year, he died, and she felt how hollow her reaction was compared to Sherlock's death, and knew she hadn't really loved him.

* * *

As the fourth year began, she could be found back at Baker Street, living mechanically, accepting the solitude she seemed doomed to live. Each morning, she woke, showered, dressed, ate jam on toast, worked at the clinic, went home, ate Chinese, watched television, and went to bed. Sometimes, throughout the years, she'd had a pint with Lestrade, talking about cases just to feel in the loop, but the habit faded out, until one day she noticed a commotion on her way to the clinic. Curiosity got the best of Jane, and she joined the crowd of onlookers. To her disgust, some amateur was making statements and "deductions" about the murder.

"What an idiot," she muttered. She could have sworn to hearing a whispered reply, a quiet "Seeing, not observing." Jane whirled around, but she accidentally knocked over an old man who appeared to be a librarian. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" she said quickly, but the man wrenched away and hurried off into the crowd. "Well, then," Jane grouched, as she continued to the clinic.

"Dr. Watson? There's a man come to see you specifically…"  
"He does know hours have just ended?"  
"He's insisting, Miss."  
"Ah, okay - I suppose you may as well let him in." She was shocked to see the old man.  
"Apologies, doctor."  
"I don't mean to be rude, but this is very irregular, sir."  
"Yes, of course, but I simply had to come. I regretted my abrupt treatment of you almost immediately, but upon pursuing you here, I didn't wish to disturb you during working hours."  
"Oh my. Well, it was quite unnecessary, but I do appreciate that."  
"Not at all. In fact, perhaps in reparation I could give you some books to fill out those awkward shelves of yours."  
"Awkward - ?" Jane turned to stare in surprise at her book shelves. "They're not - " _SHERLOCK?_

* * *

"Jane?" He'd lifted her into her chair.  
"It _is_ you. Is it you?"  
"I owe you a thousand apologies, my dear. I had no idea you would be so affected."  
She punched him in the face, then waited patiently for him to recover.  
"Now talk."


	10. Missing Pieces

**Shhh... I fix it, 'kay?**

* * *

First of all, I found a very apropos quote for Sherlock:

_"The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius." ~ Oscar Wilde_

Second of all, the quote for this chapter:

_"Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit." ~ Peter Ustinov_

* * *

Sherlock staggered back up and plopped into a chair across from the irate doctor.  
"Alright! No need to get so painfully physical, my dear Watson. It started when I realized the final piece in Moriarty's game: my disgraced death, effectively silencing my protests."

"That – You dick! That was right after we met 'Rich Brook,' wasn't it? Why didn't you say?!"

"It was a dangerous business; I needed our loyal sidekick, Miss Hooper, to sort out the corporeal details should I be forced to try and outsmart him in the end. I couldn't risk telling you and making you even more of a target. It was… nearly unbearable, speaking to you from the roof like that, Jane, but he had snipers on all of you! Well, not Molly. He didn't think she was important, after the way I treated her while he was in the lab. There were men ready to kill Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Each man was waiting for the signal from the sniper watching you. If he hadn't seen me fall, he would have shot you, and told the others." He trailed off, watching her expressions change. _Surprise, anger, affection, fear, confusion_.

"Why were you gone so long, then? … Or why did you come back at all?" she asked quietly.  
"At first, I was hiding in the South East of Asia, but in travelling through the Middle East I heard news of the last thread of Moriarty's web to be unraveled: Sebastian Moran, master sniper and close conspirator to that madman. I'd had to contact Mycroft for funds, being cut off from my usual sources, and I may never hear the end of it, but I was glad to have a contact to smuggle me into London quietly. I've already visited Mrs. Hudson – I have a plan in place, and she'll be extremely important. We're lucky to have that woman, Watson. She had quite a shock – cried on my shirt for a bit – but she's quite up to the task. The only missing piece… is you. Will you help me, Jane?"

"I would think I'm more trustworthy than your damned brother. And Molly!" she scolded.

"Oh! Jane, it' not that at all! You are the undeniably the most reliable person I have ever known, but you are an honest soul. Had you known, you could never have convincingly pretended I was dead, and you would immediately have been a target again. They would have assumed you knew where I was," he asserted earnestly, grasping her arm. She sighed, knowing she couldn't resist.

"Right, okay. What are we doing?" For a moment he just grinned at her, eyes shining, but snapped out of it when she suddenly wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. "Hallo? Your plan involves more than lurking in a dark corner, right?"

"Ha, ha. Yes… Well. Sort of." She pulled back with a mildly outraged expression.

"For God's sake. Well, you've been punched and berated and you are beginning to look as though you've got jet-lag… When are we starting?"

"Ah, yes. I do, actually, have jet-lag, it seems. My schemes won't take shape until around nine tonight. Mrs. Hudson said you'd moved back into 221B? Could I…" he trailed off uncertainly, not knowing where their relationship was after all the years and heartache. _Can I come home?_

Jane laughed. "Of course! I'm not letting you out of my sight!" She grabbed her bag and coat, then dragged him by the hand to find a cab. Once inside, he found himself just staring at her, but it took Jane a few moments to notice. "Sherlock?"

"Do you forgive me, Jane? I mean… I do know what happened while I was gone, for the most part. I – the fact that Mark died after you'd managed grief once… It's hard, knowing what I caused." She scooted over to press against his side and smiled.

"I forgive you – even though you're an idiot. When we get home, we're dodging Mrs. Hudson and curling up in your room despite all the boxes everywhere and you'll go to sleep and I'll lay there staring awkwardly at your face. Your stupid gorgeous fucking face." He kissed her briefly as the cab came to a stop, trying to express what he didn't have words for. She understood.


End file.
